About the work

The faint streaks of green on the frosted glass aren't light, not really, but residue. A phantom glow from something long gone, an advertisement or a signal, now just a memory clinging to the surface. It suggests duration, the slow accumulation of traces that outlast their source, like a faint echo in a quiet room. We live among these historical sediments, unaware of the layers of past presences that coat our everyday surfaces, each mark a minute testament to an unseen history. This is how the present gets built, not from clean starts, but from the fading imprints of everything that came before. The glass holds these ghost-memories, a quiet archive.